


you will always burn as bright

by dangerousgays



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Hopeful Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 14:37:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20565986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dangerousgays/pseuds/dangerousgays
Summary: Frank’s not going to get all girly or whatever, and say that it’s the same person he fell in love with, that Gerard has been any sort of constant, because he isn’t and he hasn’t.He’s changed, almost completely, a total evolution.Frank’s still in love with him just the same.





	you will always burn as bright

**Author's Note:**

> this is not even close 2 what i usually write but i hope u enjoy it anyways !
> 
> slight tw for drug/drink mention !!!
> 
> (insp. by 2 am frerard conversations thank u nd also fuck u 2 the gc)

When Frank hears the knock on the door, sounding steady and solid and practiced, he’s 90% sure it’s another solicitor. 

But when he opens it, it’s not. 

For a second, Frank just stands there, mouth a little open, taking it in, taking in the hair and the beard and the body and the jacket and the hands and the posture. 

He’d know that smile anywhere, though, that crooked, unsure, hopeful smile, the same one he used to look forward to. The same one that he used to seek out. 

It’s Gerard. 

He’s not going to get all girly or whatever, and say that it’s the same person he fell in love with, that Gerard has been any sort of constant, because he isn’t and he hasn’t. He’s changed, almost completely, a total evolution. 

Frank’s still in love with him just the same. 

It’s not fair though, really, the way he continues to love Gerard from afar, through his phone screen and through the TV and through his earbuds (sometimes, he thinks, sometimes, he hopes, that some of the songs— maybe—) even though he knows Gerard doesn’t spare him a passing thought. 

Gerard’s looking up at Frank because of the step up into the house, not pressing, not even really waiting for anything, just— just standing. Just there. A presence on Frank’s front stoop like a ghost, a spirit, a specter. 

‘You have the power to forgive,’ his therapist always says. ‘Forgive and put to the back of your mind, maybe, but don’t forget. Never forget.’

And Frank doesn’t forget. He can’t forget. He’ll always carry it all with him— the beat of Gerard’s heart against his own rib cage, the shaky pressure of his hands, the bruises on bruises on bruises. He can’t forget. 

The problem, though, is that Gerard can’t remember. Can’t remember drunken fumbling, hands on faces on zippers on skin, stolen kisses that weren’t nearly as secret as they thought. 

Frank will always remember the sad smiles Ray gave him over the top of Gerard’s head when he passed out on Frank’s chest. Frank will always remember wondering what they meant, and he’ll always remember the day they made sense, the day he realized that he was in too deep, needed to climb out before he fell any further. 

He will always remember going in for a kiss, right before a show, Gerard’s first show actually sober, feeling so proud and hopeful, floating with it. 

He will always remember Gerard turning his head, the confused tilt, the furrowing of his eyebrows as he looked down at Frank and said, “What? Frankie, what— what was that?” He will always remember realizing that Gerard didn’t remember, Gerard didn’t feel— didn’t reciprocate—

It had been the beginning of the end. 

Sure, the band lasted for years and years and years after, but not like it had been. Not for Frank. 

And now Gerard’s here, on his doorstep in Jersey even though he lives across the country, has a whole life across the country, even though he shouldn’t know where Frank lives, shouldn’t know his address, shouldn’t be able to knock on his door with an armful of memories. 

Frank’s still looking down at him when Gerard finally moves, shifts, a wring of his hands like he has the right to be nervous around Frank. “Hi,” he says, with a softness he never had before, like he finally knows what it means to not put everything you have into every word you speak. 

“Hi,” Frank says. His throat is dry, rough, sandpapery. 

Another thing Frank remembers is the rambling. It’s another constant, like Gerard’s smile, that never changed, never varied, even from the drugs and the drinks and the sex. He rambled when he was high, when he was drunk, when he was excited, when he was sober, when he was basking in the afterglow. 

Frank’s expecting rambling when Gerard opens his mouth again. Instead, he gets two words and the room to talk, to answer, the space to get more than a word in edgewise, something he never had with Gerard before. 

“I’m sorry,” Gerard says, and he looks Frank in the eye, like he’s been thinking about this, like it’s the truth. 

And even though for once, Frank has all the power, the higher ground and the home turf advantage and a door to slam in his face, he knows it’s Gerard who has him caught like a vice, just like he always has and always will. 

“I still don’t remember,” Gerard confesses, like it’s something Frank doesn’t know, like it’s something he hasn’t lugged along with him for a decade like a shield. “But I know.” 

“No,” Frank says, but he’s not angry. It’s just a fact. Sure, Gerard might have seen. Might have heard. Videos and pictures and stories, mapping out months he can’t recall. Sure, he might have seen, but he still doesn’t know, can’t possibly know. “You don’t.” 

“Maybe I want to, though,” Gerard presses, still gentle, like Frank’s the fragile one (because he is, but he won’t admit it out loud, because it would shatter him, one final blow). “Maybe it’s hard for me, too, finally learning what we— what we had— and not remembering. Not being able to.” 

“Not in the same way. Years, Gerard,” Frank says, grateful when his voice doesn’t break on the name like he thought it might, grating against it like nails on a chalkboard. “Years and years and years.”

“But you never forgot,” Gerard forges on. “You never did.”

“Of course not,” Frank says, feeling stung. Because surely, surely by now, from fans and from their mutual friends, Gerard’s figured out the length of Frank’s feelings, where he’s hung his affections. Surely he heard that like he’s heard what happened, what they were. 

Gerard takes a deep breath, another thing about him that Frank knows is new, something he never did before— thinking, waiting, not jumping in head first. 

“Can I come in?” Gerard asks, and Frank knows that he means more than just this doorway, more than just Frank’s house. 

“Sure,” Frank says, and he knows his answer means more than just this doorway too. 

It’s the end of the beginning. A new beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know how u feel about this?? i dont think ill be writing like this super often but i ended up just. doin it. back 2 th usual program next time, tho, dont worry!!


End file.
